"A mad king crawling like a hunted beast into a den among the rocks; his tangled golden beard sweeping the ground, his nails like vultures' talons, and his wild eyes full of sullen terror. The powerful frame is losing semblance of humanity and is bestial in its rough growth of hair, reptile in the toad-like markings and spottings of the skin, which takes on unnatural hues of green, blue, and russet."
Alexander Gilchrist (1863)
October 21st, 1997. North Platte, Nebraska.
The Agents of J-Cell convened in North Platte's FBI field office a few months after the St. Louis incident. With the heat still on them for killing Ronald Valiant, A-Cell had assigned other cells to continue investigating Enolsis. In the interim, the conspiracy had a job for J-Cell. Senior researcher at the Great Plains Cruciform Array (GPCA), Stan Arnold, has been flagged for seeking out a copy of the 10th volume of the Revelations of Gla'aki. Some astronomer looking for a tome wasn't necessarily cause for concern, at least if Arnold hadn't just stabbed his girlfriend to death and committed suicide-by-cop.
In the sunny lands of Urth's equator, the potentate of Shamash the Lioneater has descended into anarchy. After a failed campaign against rebel forces, the Nephil's armies of Urmahlullus have been scattered. The god-king himself is rumoured to have been horribly maimed.
The golden-haired cripple was last spotted on a pilgrimage to his cult's mountaintop temple. There's been no word from him or his cultists since. If there was ever a time to rob a demigod, it's now. Get in and get out before someone beats you to it.
With Doug Walters in the wind, J-Cell set about getting a search warrant for the Enolsis chapterhouse. Fortunately, FBI forensics had already run samples taken from the Mercedes. The blood type matched Ronald Valiant's military records, and they even discovered it was a genealogical match for Senator DiTorrio thanks to a hospital trash bag JENKINS had absconded with.
Given Valiant was a wanted fugitive with a laundry list of violent offences, JOSEF had no issue getting a federal judge to sign off on a clandestine warrant. He even assembled a crack team of US marshals from the St. Louis field office for backup on the warrant service. Meanwhile, Scanlon was ratfucking every tracer round and smoke grenade he could find from the FBI armory. If bullets didn't hurt that shapeshifting monster, maybe burning magnesium and phosphorous would.
